


Between Your Lips and Mine

by peppermint_smile



Category: The Last of Us
Genre: F/M, Frottage, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-16 12:31:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9271847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peppermint_smile/pseuds/peppermint_smile
Summary: This wasn't supposed to happen.





	1. shut your mouth and run me like a river

Tess chokes down a moan as she grinds against his leg.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

It’s not serious, it’s not, it’s _not._ Joel isn’t her type. They’re partners. He’s a simple hire; someone who she pays in cards and booze to stand behind her and look intimidating, just as she did with all the others that came before him. She’s into guys closer to her age, anyway, someone who can match her dry humor and maybe trade a few stories. Not scruffy, silent men in plaid who seem to brood more than they share.

But there’s another side to him; one she didn’t fully realize until the first time he slid his tongue in her mouth, in a small alleyway just inside the wall after outrunning a horde of clickers. Her flashlight fell out of her hand and she didn’t hear the curfew announcement (and neither did he) and when a supplier of theirs happened to walk by, she was sucking the hammering pulse under the thin skin of his neck and his hands were under her shirt, palming at her breasts. She shoved him off of her, Joel swore the guy to secrecy, and they met each other’s eyes - a silent, mutual agreement that it would never happen again.

An hour later they were fucking in her empty apartment.

It wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t. But something snapped; her place was dark and cold and she was able to jam a broken table leg to lock it from the inside, and he shoved her down onto the lumpy, stained mattress and then he was inside her and he was big, _fuck_ , all those stupid jokes she made in her head about his big hands and feet and the _hammer_ , and his dick was as girthy and massive as she’d ever seen.

It happened once and they never talked about it. She sort of started seeing someone, some guy down near the slums who matched her dry humor and told her stories over the shitty, rotgut moonshine he made and didn’t hear or didn’t care that she almost moaned _Joel_ when they had sex.

But then he disappeared one day, probably bitten while on outside work duty, and then it was someone else, it was always someone else, and she’s sure Joel must have had someone else too and it was fine. It wasn’t a thing. It never happened.

But though they don’t fuck anymore, they have - this.

 _This_ is something different. They don’t talk. They don’t kiss. She keeps her eyes closed. But some days, when their conversation is rife with innuendo, or when their eyes meet just the right way, or they patch each other’s wounds and are forced to touch too much, something snaps. He pulls her into the nearest abandoned space - sometimes an alleyway, sometimes an old, collapsed tunnel, sometimes either of their apartments - and shoves her up against the wall and grinds.

She curls one arm around his neck, pulling him into her, the tight denim of her ill-fitting jeans pressing hard against her clit. He rocks into her, his mouth pressing into the divot of her neck, the bulge in his jeans growing, hard and hot and she knows that one of these days she’s going to undo his zipper and slip her hand inside.

She bites down on his shoulder as he pulls her hips up into him and thrusts against her hard, his solid thigh building hot friction between her legs, her body tightening. She grips his shoulders, wraps both of her legs around his waist, letting the brute force of his body hold her up and the wet, throbbing ache is unbearable as her clit presses against his enormous erection, even through all the layers of clothes. The clothes make it worse. It’s wrong and dirty and it needs to stop, either of them could die tomorrow, but for some reason she never can, this weird thing they do - she’s not sleeping with him. She’s _not_ \- and his hips rock into hers one last time and she lets go, coming _hard_ , her teeth sinking into his shoulder and her nails breaking skin as he grunts and growls and releases.

She leaves first, like always, and that night under the covers, she presses her fingers against her soaked panties and wonders how much longer their clothes are going to stay on.


	2. choke this love till the veins start to shiver

One month.

One month of keeping their hands to themselves, of fighting the urge, refusing to blow on the smoking kindling that threatens to spark into a full blaze. One month of pretending like they’re back to business as usual, that they haven’t tasted each other’s skin and wanted more.

One month until they’re caught again.

Her heart is pounding in her sternum, her body still buzzing with unresolved need and she feels on edge. There's a thin, reedy flush of desire curling hot and slick under her skin, trembling with the torture of being pinned again to the wall and grinding and grinding and _grinding,_ gasping as Joel’s hips press to hers to flood her body with heat -- and then that motherfucker Terrence rounds the corner. He smirks at them like he’s catching a pair of hormone-fueled teenagers pawing at each other, red-handed, and the edges of his dark eyes crinkle at the sight of them desperately grinding against one another under the crumbling brick of a hidden alcove.

Joel sees him first and jerks away, peeling her off his body with his teeth curled back into a snarl. She makes an aggravated noise until she sees the source of the interruption, fingers curling into the lapel of Joel’s flannel shirt to push or pull him close, she isn’t sure. “ _Terrence._ ”

“Evenin’,” the man says, grinning at them. “Y’all need somewhere with four walls and a door, man.”

Joel makes a low growl in his chest, and she’s pressed close enough to him still to feel it in her own body. She lets him go, and she watches as he turns abruptly on his heels with a huff and leaves her to deal with their newest spectator. Joel never did care for the guy, and now -

Well, now her skin is burning under her clothes despite the steady, cool summer rain and the damp, aching heat between her legs is so uncomfortable that she has to keep herself from squeezing her thighs together. She manages a few menacing words for Terrence with a tight but hard smile, runs a hand through her limp, wet hair and ducks out.

The way home is deserted. She heads toward her own apartment to change out of her wet clothes and crack open her bottle of scotch, planning to take care of herself with feverish thoughts still lingering of how heavy and hot Joel’s bulge is and how hard it presses into her through the denim, how it makes her mouth dry and her skin prickle and tingle with raw heat and how the pressure builds in delicious waves with every roll of her hips and  -

She stops suddenly, a scowl painting her sharp features.

Damnit.

God _damnit_.

She blows a sharp breath, turns right instead of left, and marches toward an all-too-familiar brownstone building.

 

\-----

 

Tess bites the soft inside of her cheek as she pounds on his door impatiently, shifting her weight between the balls of her feet. She is acutely aware of the rugged flush in her cheeks and the blazing thrum of desire that ignites a cracking heat in her chest, spreading throughout her body like wildfire in a wheat field, from her igneous bones to the tips of her hair to the smooth almonds of her fingernails. Her mind is clouded with a hot, desperate rush of pure want - no, a _need_ \- the _need_ to feel Joel’s hands on her and the deep, ragged groans he breaths into the shell of her ears.

The door swings open and her head snaps up. There’s confusion and surprise written on Joel’s face when she shoves past him, his eyes widening, but there’s a keen darkening of his irises also, something deep and longing and hungry. “Tess -”

“Shut up.”

“The hell’re you -”

“I _said_ -”

She grabs him and shuts him up with her mouth, so fucking _irritated_ , and the cold of her damp skin makes him jolt; but he kisses her back without hesitation, all hands and tongue and hitching breath. His tongue strokes into her mouth, hands sliding down her back, squeezing her ass as she grinds up against him. His erection is pressed firmly against her, hot and throbbing through the denim that she _hates_ , and she knows he was about to take care of it himself while thinking of her and the thought of it makes her head swoon.  

She moans into his mouth as he devours her, arching into him as his hands slide over her hips and up her back. It’s wrong, it’s all kinds of wrong, because he’s not the kind of guy she likes and it’s not like they’re _together_ and fuck, it’s supposed to be _professional_ -

A deep groan rumbles through his chest and she shivers, her fingers tightening on his shoulders as another wave of molten desire crashes through her body, the wet ache between her legs unbearable. She needs tactile sensation, anything, she just needs _relief_.

“Joel,” she chokes out, her voice breaking as he sinks his teeth into her earlobe, laving it with his tongue. “Joel -”

“Tell me,” he growls, his breath hot on her neck, punctuating each word with a hot slide of his tongue along hers. She bites her lip for the fraying threads of her sanity.

“Now, I need - now.”

She chases after his mouth to tug his lower lip between her teeth, but he pulls back, staring at her, his eyes growing even darker and the muscles in his throat working as he swallows.

His mouth is harder, demanding as he kisses her with more ferocity than she thought possible, and then he walks her backwards until her back hits the hard, unforgiving surface of the door, knocking the air out of her lungs. His thigh nudges her legs apart and she grinds down against him, whimpering faintly at the delicious hot friction right where she needs it.

“You like that,” he snarls, hissing it in her ear. “Y’like it when I get rough, don’t ya?”

Tess chokes out something she hopes is vaguely close to _yes_ as he rocks his hips into hers, flooding her body with heat. He grabs the front of her jeans and pops them open with a sharp, upward tug that brings her hips briefly upward as well, the fly shoved down with the heel of his thumb, and his fingers jamming inside denim. She feels nails scraping skin, skimming under the edge of her underwear. She gasps, hooking her leg over his as his fingers trace lightly over the damp, threadbare fabric of her panties. Her hips buck sharply, pressing harder into his hand.

It’s rough, desperate, and it happens so fast. He works the heavy, wet fabric down her legs, yanks her underwear down, unzips himself, and then he shoves her up against the door hard and she takes a shaky breath.

Then he’s inside her, hot and strong and enormous and so _perfect._

She clutches frantically at his hair, winds her legs around his waist, a high-pitched moan she hardly recognizes as her own voice slipping past her lips as the different angle drives him even deeper.

“Christ, Tess, _fuck_ ,” he grunts against her collarbone as he thrusts into her, rough and frantic and oh so _good_. A slick, burning delight spills in her gut at his words, the desperation in his voice seems to stoke up a climbing heat that tears right through her. She moans against his ear, squeezes her thighs around his waist and pulls him deeper in.

He’s turned relentless now, pushing deep and strong inside her; every thrust sends shocks of pleasure straight between her legs. He growls darkly into her skin, his strokes getting faster, even more sloppy, involuntary, his hips jerking against hers brutal enough to bruise. He layers a rich, heady kiss on her lips and trails down her throat, nipping feverishly at her damp skin, licking the column of her throat as she pants against him, her whole body burning, shaking from the hot, delicious torture as his mouth paints a line over her.

She bites her lip, her head falling back against the door as her body tightens and curls around him, faster and faster and she finds she can’t breathe, she can’t seem to catch her breath.

And then it all comes loose, the orgasm rushing through her body white-hot. She chokes out a rough cry, his name dripping from her lips like honey as he lets out a deep, guttural swear, pressing into her so deep it sparks a flash of pain in her belly. It’s gone the next second, and he pulls out at the very last minute and grunts as his slicked-up cock spills against her stomach and his thighs.

She slumps against him dazedly. Everything in her feels like warm candle wax; her lungs gulping breaths as her feet hit the floor and her head hits reality. Oh, fuck, _fuck_. They just -

There’s a long moment of silence and she sighs, feeling his heart pounding under her hands. She just fucked her partner. A second time. She just let him fuck her against his apartment door. What the fuck was she thi-

But then his mouth is on hers again, gentler this time, a slow kiss that tingles through her fingers and toes and she opens his mouth under his and it’s Joel: the wrong man, the wrong circumstance, the wrong situation entirely, but right then, she doesn’t care.

  
She lets him drag her down onto the couch, lets him peel the rest of her clammy, damp clothes off her skin like the layers of her soul, but she never says that. Never even lets herself think it. Instead she focuses on the feeling of his hands gripping her hips tight, the muscle of his thighs pressing her into the cushions as he slides two fingers into her. She arches and shudders and sighs at it, comes apart again against his chest, and Tess decides that maybe ‘wrong’ isn’t the word anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blue-balled by my own fic, so this one-shot turned into a two-shot ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> As always, come play with me on [tumblr!](http://anne1marie.tumblr.com/)


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